


You, Me, and a Mini-Me

by AndromedaPrime



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mech Preg, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 00:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15717864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/pseuds/AndromedaPrime
Summary: Drift is carrying. Rodimus shows his love for his sparkmate and learns a few things.A few snippets of the life of a Prime, his swordsmech, and their sparkling.





	1. She's Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> I've a newfound love for these bros with vows. As is tradition when I get invested in a new ship, one is now knocked up. Please enjoy this shameless fluff and smut<3

“R...Rod,” Drift gasped, his processor swirling and his servos grasping the pillows that Rodimus had built up as a fluffy nest around him. He arched his hips into the other mech’s mouth, intakes hitching as he felt those lips encircle his anterior node and suckle lightly, glossa swiping against it.

Between them, the bitlet kicked, and Drift was ever thankful that she had no idea what was going on and that she would never remember this one of many times that her creators had interfaced with her in the same room. He reached down and stroked the top of Rodimus’s helm as the Prime drew back, replacing his glossa with digits that pumped in and out.

“Frag, Drift,” Rodimus said in a hushed voice, “you’re so gorgeous. Primus I could do this all the time with you.”

Drift managed to get his thoughts together enough to smirk at his mate. “Doing this all the time got us into this mess,” he said, stroking the swell of his middle once before reaching out for Rodimus and yanking him forward by the collar, pressing their lipplates together in a fervent kiss.

“Yeah but,” Rodimus said as he pulled back a bit, giving Drift the best slag-eating grin he’d ever seen on the Prime, “best mess I’ve gotten into, wouldn’t you say? Better than all those fights I would pick when some other bot looked at you wrong.”

“You were younger and you had no self-control,” Drift said. “I expected all of that when I became friends with you.”

“Did you expect this?” Rodimus gestured to the mound of sparkling betwen then.

Drift drew an expression on his faceplates that showed Rodimus that he was thinking. After a few more moments of that, his expression softened. “I think I did. And I’m pretty glad it happened with you.”

He hadn’t realized that the femmeling had been still, quiet and unmoving, until he felt her stir lazily, felt her move and stretch and wriggle in that little space within him that was all for her. Drift moved a servo to his belly again and caressed it, smiling when Rodimus did the same.

“Best mess we’ve gotten ourselves into,” Rodimus said, adding Drift into the sentiment. Much as he could try, Drift couldn’t find it in himself to disagree. He nodded and watched with rapt attention as his mate curled over and pressed his lipplates to his middle, kissing the sparkling and then uncurling, leaning up and kissing him again.

Drift moaned into their liplock, using one servo to grip tightly onto the back of Rodimus’s helm as his other servo trailed along the other mech’s belly and then pelvic span, his nimble digits stroking the interface cover.

Rodimus was as impatient as he always was, an inexperienced adult Cybertronian too eager to engage in interface. In previous times, Drift would tease his mate about how a breeze could get him off, but in this current state of carrying where he wanted nothing more than a spike plunged into his valve, he simply tugged at Rodimus’s spike and bit down on the Prime’s lower lipplate.

“Get in me, now,” Drift said with the best commanding voice he could muster.

The feral look that Rodimus gave him sent a shiver down his spinal strut, and then a moment later his valve lips parted around Rodimus’s length, eliciting a sound from Drift’s vocalizer that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan. His neural net lit up, Rodimus as always managing to insert himself into every part of his frame.

“Drift,” Rodimus gasped as he rolled his hips, his optics glazed over. Drift rippled the calipers of his valve and thoroughly enjoyed the slight hitch in the other mech’s intakes that his audios picked up on. He wrapped his legs around Rodimus’s waist as best as he was still able to and arched his lower back, murmuring praise and encouragement as the other mech set a pace of thrusts that increased in tempo.

“Frag, frag,” Rodimus gasped out loud each time, his optics fixating on Drift’s faceplates before he covered that last bit of distance between them and kissed him again. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so happy that I have you in my life.”

Drift was absolutely sure that the smile that crossed his faceplates was brighter than the stars outside their window. His spark swelled with emotion, happiness, joy, pride, gratefulness, and he pressed back against Rodimus. He opened up their sparkbond and bared himself to the other mech.

Rodimus sobbed and bared his soul as well, something they did so constantly, but somehow it never lost the novelty.

_I love you._

_I love you so much Drift._

Rodimus suddenly planted one of his servos to Drift’s side and the swordsmech could feel how the other bot’s spike pulsed before letting loose a flood of warm transfluid. Rodimus gasped and kept thrusting, attacking Drift’s neck cables with his dentae and lipplates, kissing and biting as he rode out his overload. One of his servos drifted down between their bodies, and Drift felt Rodimus’s digits circle around his anterior node again.

A few moments later he fell into a blissful overload of his own, gasping and clinging to Rodimus as if he were the last thing holding him to this existence.

When he came to, Rodimus was stretched out against his side, smug grin on his faceplates.

“You said you love me.”

Primus above and below and all around, Rodimus was such a youngling most of the time. Drift made a face at him and lightly thunked the Prime on his chassis. “We’re bonded, I’m carrying our sparkling, and you also said that you love me.”

Rodimus snuggled into his side, getting handsy with him as he cupped the swell of Drift’s belly with one servo and used the other to grope around for the back of the swordsmech’s helm and pull him closer. “Yeah, but you said it first.”

It took all of Drift’s self-control to not roll his optics. Instead, he chose to refocus that energy into lifting one of his servos and stroking his middle for a few moments, before covering Rodimus’s hand with his. Under their touch, the sparkling fluttered and thumped against his side.

“She’s going to be perfect,” he murmured, closing his optics for a brief moment before reopening them.

“Yeah she is. She’s going to be perfect because she’s your sparkling. It’s all you.” He pecked him on the lipplates. “I had nothing to do with it.”

Drift gave his sparkmate a flat look and shifted so more of his lower back was on the pile of pillows, relieving him of some of the pressure the bitlet was putting on his frame. “Excuse you. You had a servo in this. I didn’t do this all by myself. We got lucky one interface session and produced this.”

“You’re the one carrying, I’m not. She’s going to get everything from you.”

Slightly tilting his helm to one side, Drift shook his helm and replied, “I can feel her aura. I’ve been feeling it develop ever since I knew I was sparked. And I know that she’s going to be exactly like you.” He lifted one of his servos to stroke Rodimus’s faceplates, smiling gently as the red-armored mech leaned into the touch and his optic covers fluttered. “I don’t know if she’s going to come out looking like you or like me but she’s already got your personality, babe.”

Rodimus’s optics sparkled, growing more and more bright and happy the longer that Drift spoke. He tucked his helm underneath the other mech’s chin, and some part of Drift wondered why the other mech was being so cuddly.

The rational part of him told him not to question it.

“So she’s like me?” Rodimus said, his voice thick. “How is she like me?”

There were some things that were a little difficult to put into words, but Drift cleared his vocalizer and tried his best. “She’s hyper. She loves the sound of us tapping to her and my voice humming. Her spark feels true and genuine, like yours. She’s curious and thinks all the time. I don’t know what she thinks about.” Drift stroked Rodimus’s faceplates with the backside of his digits, spark melting at the look his sparkmate was giving him. “She likes to chatter at me over our bond. Often at the same times you do.”

“So we’ll be dealing with you, me, and a mini-me.”

“Our life is going to be filled with your voice and hers. Primus help us all when she begins to talk.” Drift stretched out on the berth. “I think she’ll talk in her recharge like you do.”

“Hey, that was only a couple of times. I stopped!”

“It only took you, what, a few million stellar cycles?” Drift replied. He couldn’t help but smirk in response to Rodimus’s scowl. The other mech bunted his helm crest against his and then tucked himself into his side.

“You’re mean,” Rodimus sniffed indignantly, and Drift had to wonder how this mech became a Prime and captain of a ship.

“Only to you, Rod.” His engine purred and the bitlet kicked him in response. “I’m going to make her a sword.”

Rodimus’s electromagnetic field stalled in its tracks, and then the Prime sat up very swiftly and turned to look at him. The expression on Rodimus’s faceplates was one that Drift would remember for a long time, the panicked confusion almost making him break into laughter.

“She’s just a baby!”

“That doesn’t mean she can’t learn to fight.”

“I know, I know, but can you maybe wait a little bit, just maybe?”

Drift laughed and kissed the top of his mate’s helm. “I’m not going to teach her right out of the chamber, Rod. She’ll be a few stellar cycles before I put a blade in her servos. I’m not that crazy.”

“I’ve seen you with your swords babe. I know you’re fragging crazy. And then I’m fragging crazy when I fight.” Rodimus made a motion like a shudder. “I think she’s going to kill us all with a sword.”

“I never said I was going to give her an actual _metal_ sword. It’s going to be a fake one.”

Rodimus stalled again, and then laughed. “You got me,” he said, before leaning down and kissing Drift on his lipplates once more before settling in at the swordsmech’s side.

Drift hummed contentedly and looked down at Rodimus cuddling the curve of his belly, feeling the sparkling reach out for her sire to further feel his presence. “She’s going to be such a sire’s femme.”

Rodimus looked up at him, beaming, blue optics incredibly brilliant. “You know it.”


	2. Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned, most of this chapter contains kind of graphic descriptions of birth.

It had started off slowly, only a faint few moments of twinges that hadn’t been enough to stir him from his mediation. It wasn’t until one was strong enough to do just that that he realized what was happening, and called for his mate. Rodimus had freaked, but somehow managed to get everything that was needed in the midst of his tizzy.

Now, all the meditation in the universe failed to entirely prepare him for the amount of pain that emergence would bring upon him. He clung to Rodimus as if he were his lifeline, gasping with each contraction that hit him. It was painful, yes indeed, and he tried hard not to think of how it was only going to get even worse.

“You’re so fragging incredible.”

Drift shook his helm and ex-vented harshly as the contraction ended. “I don’t feel like it.”

Rodimus kissed his forehelm. “Babe, this all looks so fragging painful and you’re just going through with it.”

He tried, he really tried to grin at Rodimus, but he knew that his smile probably came across more as a pained grimace. “Not like I have any other way out of this, hot stuff.”

“Well, we could always tell Ratchet to go in there and-”

“Absolutely not,” Drift snapped unintentionally, feeling just a bit remorseful at the taken-aback expression that crossed Rodimus’s faceplates. It was a far different expression than the one Ratchet had given him when Drift had told him what he planned for the time of emergence.  “I don’t want to be cut open if I can help it. I’ll be okay.”

At least, he tried to believe it with all of his spark and processor.

When he thought about it, it was a little bit humorous. Here he was, once a formerly feared Decepticon who rose through the ranks because of his mercilessness and brutality, taking lives without a second though. Now? His mate was a Prime, he was now an avowed Autobot, and here he was in the throes of emergence with their child.

This sparkling would be one positive contribution he could make to the universe he’d once sullied with his existence.

He must have let out a laugh or made some sort of noise, because Rodimus was now calling his attention, hovering in his visual field again. “Babe, are you alright?”

Drift hazily returned to this plane of existence and sighed, leaning against his mate and clutching his side that was still aching after the recent contraction. “In pain, but I’ll live.” He gave Rodimus a wan smile. “Thousands of us have been through this before and have survived.”

Just then another one hit him, and he yelped more in surprise than in pain and held onto Rodimus. The other mech to his credit said nothing other than holding onto him, saying, “I’ve got you,” and “Yell all you want babe, no one can hear you.”

A small part of him knew that these walls were not entirely soundproof, so there was a chance that at least someone was definitely able to hear him. Drift buried his faceplates into Rodimus’s neck cables and muffled the shout that came as the contraction peaked and then ebbed away. He let out a low, guttural groan, and then pulled away from Rodimus. “It hurts.”

“You are going to be pushing something big out of a hole the size of-”

“Babe, I love you, but shut the frag up.”

To his credit, Rodimus actually listened, and clamped down on the words he was going to say before he spewed them further.

Drift wandered into the living space adjacent to their berthroom and laid down on the long seat, sighing and stroking circles over the curve of his middle. The sparkling fluttered softly and sent along some sort of happy emotions through their creator-creation bond. Joy, perhaps? Anticipation, as if she knew that she would be meeting her carrier and sire very soon.

“Do you want to watch a vid?” Rodimus asked, tucking himself behind Drift on the long seat, offering his lap as a pillow of sorts to the laboring mech and caressing his digits along the pretty white helm. One of Drift’s finials twitched, and Drift gave a quiet, pleased moan and leaned into the touch.

“No,” Drift said finally, softly, as he shook his helm once in the negative. “I’m not in the mood.”

He tried not to laugh at the obvious disappointment that Rodimus expressed, seeing the bits and pieces of the other bot’s back armor deflate. Drift reached up with one servo, stroking the underside of Rodimus’s chin, smiling when Rodimus gave his digits and palm a quick kiss.

“What about a datapad? I don’t have a good voice to do those audio files of bots reading stories out, but will it help you?”

“I just want to stay like this Roddy, if that’s okay.”

The other mech sighed and nodded, taking Drift’s lifted servo into his and turning it over slowly, kissing the back of it.

It was strange to Drift, sometimes. How this mech could simultaneously be a Prime, have the weight of the universe on his shoulder struts, yet he could also be so youthful in his actions and sometimes act like he had not a care. And to think they were bonded.

It was indeed strange.

Rodimus’s voice cut through his thoughts. “What do you think she’s going to look like?”

Drift stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment before sighing and moving his servo away, placing it where his other one was, on the swell of his middle. “Whatever she looks like, she’s going to be gorgeous. I’m just going to thank Primus that she’s here and that she’s a healthy bitlet.”

He blinked and when he reopened his optics, Rodimus was hovering above him, a smile on his faceplates. “C’mon Drift. Don’t give me that - you have to hope she looks like one of us, or gets something from each of us. What do you think she’s going to look like?”

The swordsmech smiled and decided to play at Rodimus’s game. He stroked the other mech’s faceplates. “With my luck, since she acts like you, I’m pretty sure she’s going to come out looking exactly like you.”

Rodimus bunted his helm against the white-armored bot’s crest. “Nah. I think she’s going to come out looking like you.”

“I feel like you’re asking for a bet. Is that what you’re asking for, hot stuff?”

“No! I’m trying to distract you with small talk, something I read in a guide to helping my mate through emergence.” Rodimus gave him one of his million-credit grins. “Offering a video didn’t work. So is this small talk working?”

To add to Rodimus’s perfect timing, another wave of pain crested, this time more intense than the ones he’d felt before. Drift howled and squeezed his optics shut, rolling onto his side and clutching the curve of his belly as he curled into himself. It was the most painful one yet, so much so that he forgot what it was he was supposed to do in this instance. Time it?

For once Rodimus seemed to be ahead of him, as when the pain ebbed away he heard the familiar voice counting. Drift reopened his optics and sighed, reaching out for the offered servo that Rodimus gave him and grasping onto it.

“Better?”

Drift couldn’t decide whether or not to whap Rodimus upside the helm, so he settled on sighing in a mixture of exhaustion and exasperation. “I’m not worse off.”

.-.-.

When Drift thought back to all of the texts he’d read previously, he had faintly taken note of the warnings that the datapads had given himi - it would get worse as time went on.

And by Primus it certainly did. In the back of processor he’d known that he was in for a world of pain, but it wasn’t until the contractions felt like they were splitting him apart that all the information actually registered in his processor.

His vents were hot, working and trying to cool his frame down. Rodimus, Primus bless his spark, was trying his best to keep him cool by using damp cloths, but it hardly worked, and after becoming thoroughly annoyed at the hovering, Drift had yelled at him and then apologized for yelling at him when he was trying to help the entire situation.

Currently he was on all fours, holding himself up and his heavy belly hanging as Rodimus applied little electric shocks and touches to the parts of his frame most affected by the painful spasms. Drift groaned with each touch, pushing back against his mate, and rocking his hips to try and alleviate some of the pressure and pain he was feeling.

“Babe-”

“Shut up,” Drift snapped, and then he sighed a moment later and turned to look over a shoulder strut at Rodimus. “I’m sorry. I’m fragged to Pit. What were you saying?”

Rodimus stared at him with what looked a little bit like actual fear in his optics. “I was gonna say that I love you and ask what else you wanted me to do.”

Oh. Right. Drift straightened himself and turned around, kissing Rodimus on his lipplates and taking his helm into his servos. The other mech responded with equal gentleness, stroking his digits along Drift’s finials.

“Just be here with me,” Drift said after they pulled apart and he tucked his helm into the crook of Rodimus’s neck cables. “Don’t leave me, don’t abandon me and our sparkling. I’m always afraid of losing you.”

A chuckle rippled its way up Rodimus’s chassis and came out of his vocalizer, and Drift felt one of his sparkmate’s servos stroke up his back strut in a gesture meant to be comforting. “Aww babe. The only way you’re losing me is if I go offline. And that’s not gonna happen, because I’m pretty invincible.”

Drift lightly smacked Rodimus on his chassis, right over his Autobrand. “Don’t mention you offlining when I’m in the middle of bringing a sparkling online.”

“Right, sorry.” At least Rodimus had the decency to look a little bit ashamed. “Last thing you want to hear babe. Got it.”

Drift knew that at best he only had a few more moments left before another contraction would hit, so he reached out for one of the other mech’s servos and held onto it. “And I love you too.”

It hit, and it was definitely more painful than the last. He dug the tips of his digits deep into the crevices between Rodimus’s armor plating and gasped, panting through it.

“You’re amazing, you can do this,” Rodimus’s voice filtered into his audio processors. “Our sparkling is going to be so lucky to have a carrier like you.”

“Rod! Roddy!” Drift shouted, howling as he squeezed his optics shut and followed his frame’s command to bear down with all the strength that his abdominal cables had, feeling the sparkling finally start working a way out of the gestation chamber. His vocalizer shorted out and then rebooted, his intakes heaving as his frame shook. “Frag! Primus this fragging hurts!”

“You can do this babe,” Rodimus whispered, holding him up. “I have you.”

The swordsmech cried out, dry heaving. “I can’t do this. I thought I could.” He shook his helm and almost fell forward into Rodimus’s chassis. “But I can’t do this.”

“I know you can do this,” Rodimus reiterated, kissing Drift on his forehelm. “You’re the strongest mech I know, you’re going to get through this.”

Drift’s intakes heaved violently, his throat cables spasming. “Can,” he gasped. “Waste can.”

Rodimus didn’t ask questions, and a moment after he fetched the trash receptacle that was always at the side of their berth, Drift vomited into its depths. He choked and groaned, ex-venting heavily.

He heard Rodimus start talking again. “Can you even start pushing right now?”

His frame had told him so, but just to double check, Drift ran a self-diagnostic scan and searched for the numbers that the cantankerous medic had told him to look out for. “I’m at a hundred percent.”

Rodimus’s faceplates were twisted into a concerned expression. “Should we get Ratchet-”

“He told us it’s low-risk,” the swordsmech interrupted, panting. “If something happens, get him.”

“Something _is_ happening!”

“It’s called pushing a sparkling out, you dumb aft!” Drift yelled as he clutched his side. “If I’m on the verge of offlining or the sparkling is, _then go get him_.”

It was then that he noticed the streaks of fluid on Rodimus’s shiny faceplates, and he paused. Even in the midst of emergence, Drift found the strength in him to make his way over to his sparkmate and kissed him. “I’m sorry. You know I’m not like this.”

“It’s not that…” Rodimus said quietly, winding one servo around Drift to pull him closer and placing the other one on the other mech’s distended middle. “I’m afraid of losing you, babe. And our sparkling. Just… didn’t want to say it. I tried to prepare as hard as I could.” The fluid welled up at the corners of his optics again and streaked down, plunking on Rodimus’s chassis. “I try to be a good sparkmate, now I have no idea how to be a good sire.” His optics now glassy, he looked right into Drift’s optics, and Drift felt a pang of pain at the look in them. “Do you think I’ll be a good sire?”

As always, perfect timing - Drift bit back a yelp and thunked his helm against Rodimus’s shoulder as another spasm rode its way through and around his frame. He grunted and groaned, and when it was over, he composed himself and sighed. “I worry about being a good carrier, Rodimus,” he said softly. “I didn’t have creators of my own to draw from, so we’re both going to be learning as we go along. So, yes, I think you’re going to be a good sire.” He covered the servo that Rodimus had placed on his middle with one of his. “She’s going to have fun with you being her sire.”

Rodimus smiled, fresh streaks down his faceplates, and then kissed him again.

The urge to push overcame him, and Drift braced himself against the berth and through the haze of pain tried think of the instructions he’d read over and over again to prepare for this. He parted his thighs further and panted.

“Rod?” he rasped out.

His sparkmate settled behind him, gently placing a hand on his hip. “I’m here babe,” he said softly. “Tell me what to do.”

Diagnostics told him that the bitlet was pressing down on the entrance to his valve. Drift placed a servo down there and confirmed it. Grunting, he turned his helm slightly and said, “Keep an optic on her, just make sure to catch her.”

Rodimus made a noise like he was going to ask a question, but then thought better of it; Drift thanked Primus and focused inward, groaning and grunting as his abdominal cables contracted and pushed downward, guiding the sparkling out. Part of him was nauseated, but he focused instead on trying to accomplish this task instead of calling for the waste can.

“I think I see her!” Rodimus said excitedly. Drift grinned into the edge of the berth and stopped, composed himself, and then resumed.

Kliks later, it was very apparent that he had at least half of the bitlet’s helm out. Rodimus spoke again, this time his voice not entirely excited, but more horrified. “Oh, Drift, how are you doing this?”

“I don’t have a choice. Here,” Drift looked over a shoulder strut and grabbed one of Rodimus’s servos, placing it at the rim of his valve. “Just catch her.”

The contractions came and went, and he followed their call to push and when to cease. Everything seemed to take so many cycles, but when Drift checked his internal chronometer he saw that only about a quarter-cycle had passed. He let out a groan of disappointment mixed with pain.

“Babe, you’re doing really good, just a few more pushes and I think she should be out.”

“I need to…” Drift trailed off and pressed his forehelm against the berth. “I need her out. I need her out.”

A servo appeared on his hip. “We’ll see her soon. We’re gonna hold her. She’s gonna be perfect just like you.”

Drift opened an optic he wasn’t aware he’d closed andlooked at Rodimus for a moment before nodding and crossing his arms in front of his helm, resting his forehelm against them as he resumed pushing. The sparkling peeped out further, and Drift felt rivulets of fluid trickling down the inside of his thighs onto the cleaning sheets that were laid out underneath him. Something shifted inside of him, and then popped free.

“Babe, there’s a shoulder! Get the other out, you can do this!” Rodimus said, the excitement back in his voice.

Just one more, Drift told himself. One more hard one to get the other shoulder strut free, and he or Rodimus could gently slip the sparkling the rest of the way out.

With a final shout, Drift pushed and felt the sparkling’s other shoulder work free of his frame. Before he could act, the sparkling’s body slipped entirely out, followed by the gush of fluid that had sustained the bitlet in the time she had been growing inside of him. The fastidious part of his processor dared to take over, telling him to clean up, but he quashed it and heaved, his processors reorienting themselves as best as they could. Finally, finally, he managed to compose himself and turned around, shakily leaning against the berth with his front to his sparkmate.

There, cradled protectively in Rodimus’s arms and shiny-wet, was the little femme they’d waited so long to meet. The Prime was shocked, his optics wide, as he simply stared at the small frame that he held.

She looked just like her sire.

The line of Rodimus’s lipplates shook as his own intakes began heaving, and then he choked out a sob, his shoulder struts shaking.

“Drift, she’s so beautiful,” he whispered through the cascade of tears that began flowing from his optics. “She’s so beautiful and tiny, oh my Primus.” His faceplates were now shiny and his intakes hitched as he gently handed the little form over to the swordsmech. “She’s so tiny Drift, how did we even make this? How did we make something this small?”

His processor still in flumox from the emergence cycle, Drift looked in surprise and joy at the tiny bitlet coming to life and squirming against his chassis. He wrapped his arms around the small little form, breathing out a soft “Ohhhh.” The sparkling stilled for a brief moment, then opened her mouth and let out a wail.

“Hi,” Drift said quietly, only half-aware of the tears streaming out of his optics and down his faceplates. He stroked the side of her face with one of digits, feeling his emotions well up from deep within his chassis and try to escape through his vocalizer, which was choked up. “Hi. Hello.” Bringing the sparkling up closer to his faceplates, Drift closed his optics and kissed her, his voice shaking. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

Vaguely he was aware of Rodimus sobbing in the background, bumbling something about how her servos were too small. Tears streamed down his faceplates, where they fell off of his chin and jawline and plunked onto his chassis, his vocalizer hitching as he reached a servo out and stroked the wailing sparking’s side. “Drift, she’s so small. H...how are we going to do this?”

Drift almost asked Rodimus what exactly he was talking about, but the Prime continued rambling, saying, “I can’t take care of myself without you there most of the time, h-how are we going to take care of her?”

Rodimus continued babbling through his tears, and Drift simply smiled and decided that it was best to let his conjunx wear himself out. In the meantime he stroked the bitlet’s back, cooing quietly at her as she calmed down and opened her optics, staring at him with wide and bright blue eyes. Her electromagnetic field mingled with his, and in it, he felt a sense of wonderment, almost as if asking if he was her carrier.

He gave her a gentle nudge with his own field, and his spark soared when she responded with a squeak. She curled into his chassis, her small servos reaching out for him, and he leaned down and kissed the tiny fists.

“Drift?” came a quiet voice. He looked up, processor hazy but smiling at Rodimus as the mech knelt to his side and leaned over, pressing their lipplates together.

“Hi,” Drift responded, his voice soft and gentle.

“Drift,” Rodimus said, smiling broadly at him. “That was incredible. You’re so incredible.” He leaned over Drift’s chassis and kissed the bitlet’s helm. “She’s so tiny and incredible.”

The swordsmech closed his optics and took a deep in-vent, reopening them and looking at his mate from underneath half-lidded optics. In his arms, the bitlet squirmed and yawned.

“We’re gonna get through this, Rod,” Drift said softly. “Learning experience for both of us, remember.”

“Yeah, well… yeah I do.” One of the Prime’s servos came up and stroked the bitlet’s helm crest and bits of armor. “She needs a name.”

Processor still in such a flux that he was barely aware of anything going on beyond Rodimus’s frame and the tiny bitlet cradled against his chestplates, Drift smiled broadly and shifted how he leaned against the berth. “I want to name her Wing.”

Rodimus drew an expression on his face that Drift, admittedly, took great pleasure in knowing he’d caused. “Babe, it’s a little weird to name our sparkling after your dead ex.”

Unto his deactivation day, Drift would swear up and down that he had not intentionally planned it - in hindsight it had to be the surge of emotions and other various imbalances in his processor and frame. He looked right at his sparkmate, his processors stalled for a moment - and then promptly burst into tears.

The sparkling squeaked and began crying, her electromagnetic field showing her distress as she picked up on her carrier’s emotions.

“Okay, okay,” Rodimus said hurriedly, and Drift could see how the little bits of armor on his back slumped slightly as if in defeat. “Wing.” He smiled and picked up the sparkling, holding her close to his chassis and staring down at her in awe. “Wing it is, babe.”

Then a moment after he further secured her in his arms, he continued, “She actually does feel like a Wing.”

Drift sunk further back against the edge of the berth and closed his optics, smiling as he heard the bitlet - Wing, he told himself - making noise at her sire. If anything, he lived for the utterly confused exclamations that Rodimus was making, the normally so cock-sure Prime now so baffled by this tiny and adorable little being he had helped create.

“How do I… how does she…” Rodimus trailed off, and Drift opened his optics to see the bitlet clinging for her life against her sire’s chest armor as she slumbered peacefully, her faceplates the visage of serenity.

And on Rodimus’s face, awe and a shaking smile and beads of fluid forming at the corners of his optics as he stared at their perfect daughter, their perfect Wing.

_For once, you can’t entirely bullslag your way to the finish line,_ Drift couldn’t help but think to himself.

There was the clicking of the doors to their suite opening, footfalls that he was very familiar with, and then Ratchet peeked his face in. Drift shifted his helm so he was face-to-face with the medic and gave him a wan smile, but Ratchet was focused on Rodimus and the bitlet he held.

“Oh Pit, you give him a sparkling and he starts crying his optics out as if he were the one having it,” the medic muttered.

It wasn’t the funniest thing that Drift had ever heard in his life cycle, but with the current high from emergence, he found himself laughing so hard that it may very well have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Against what is probably my best judgement, I have decided to make this a little on-going thing to show glimpses of these two as parents. I won't promise consistent updates, but each chapter will (so far) at least end on a sweet note. We all could use something fluffy and cute in our lives - I choose this as mine.


	3. Bliss

_ “Rodimus, I have something I need to tell you.” _

_ “Uh oh.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “You used my name. You didn’t call me Roddy or Rod. What is it?” _

_ “Nothing, nothing bad, just…” Drift trailed off and wondered for a moment how it might be best to phrase it, if it would be better if he just outright said it or if a hint would suffice.  _

_ “Babe, you’re taking too long,” Rodimus said, his tone of voice very worried and his optics wide in something like fear. “You need to tell me even if you think it might hurt me.” _

_ Drift sighed and decided a nonverbal route would probably be the best way, as he grabbed a hold of both of Rodimus’s hands and gently placed them against the flat of his middle, stroking his thumbs over the backs of the Prime’s servos.  _

_ The wonderful thing about Rodimus - his processor was always going and despite how immature he came across at times, he was really good at piecing clues together. An expression of understanding slowly dawned on his faceplates, his optics glowing just a little bit brighter, and his mouth dropped open. _

_ “You mean-” _

_ “Ratchet confirmed it today, hot stuff,” Drift said softly. He couldn’t help smiling at the expression of pure and utter joy on his sparkmate’s face. “We’re having a sparkling.” _

_ Immediately, Rodimus swept him into his arms and kissed him all over, making Drift laugh and kiss him back. After a few moments of an intense, passionate liplock, Drift drew back and looked at his mate with dimmed optics. “And since I’m carrying, I’m going to need your transfluid. Help the bitlet and all.” _

_ A primal urge surged through Rodimus’s frame, as was evident by the bright flare of his optics and he lifted Drift into his arms. “I’m happy to oblige, babe,” he said as he kissed him again. _

.-.-.

Now that she was cleaned off, courtesy of Ratchet, and slumbering peacefully against his chassis, Drift let himself cry. He made no attempt to hide his tears, and she fussed every so often at the little springing noises in his chassis that also disturbed her, but a gentle stroke of his digits against her back or her helm was good enough to calm her down.

Rodimus had passed out, deep asleep against his side after crying his optics out, curled up so he had an arm over the both of them and his face smashed into a cushion. When the sparkling had calmed down enough and had gotten her bearings - as much as a few-cycles-old sparkling was able to - she had recognized Rodimus’s voice and squealed, holding her servos out to him. 

Sire’s femme indeed, Drift had thought to himself as they played hot-potato and passed her between both of them. She was already so loving to both of them, happy to be with either the swordsmech or the Prime, but the way Rodimus looked at her made Drift fall in love with his best friend all over again. He looked at her like she was the most perfect little thing to ever exist in the universe, something so perfect that it upended his entire view on life - that there was something more perfect and adorable than he.

Drift, of course, found this so funny. He sighed and tucked her closer to him, staring at her again, aware that he was marveling at the same things he had been ever since he’d popped her out, but not caring. Primus above, she was absolutely beautiful. With the exception of her servos and the way some parts of her helm stuck out an an angle, it was slightly eerie how much Wing resembled her sire.

Wing.

He would have found it funny, Drift knew. He would have found it funny that he and this bitlet that he was the namesake for couldn’t have been more opposite, but Drift knew that the old mech would have absolutely loved this little femme.

The sparkling shifted and stirred in the bundle of blankets she was in, opening her mouth in a wide yawn, and curled a servo into a fist as she blearily and sleepily opened an optic. He looked down at her and gently booped the end of her nasal ridge, prompting her to open the other optic.

“Hi.”

She blinked at him and chirped quietly.

“You know,” Drift said, “I thought you were going to be more of a chatterbox. You wouldn’t stop trying to talk to me when you were still inside of me.” He stroked her helm. “I told your sire that you and him would have to take turns talking my audials off.”

Wing responded by letting out a litany of little beeps and chirps.

“I  _ almost  _ understood what you were saying, bitty. You have so much to say,” Drift made a face at her, faking contemplation, “but do you really always need to say it?”

The bitlet clicked and chirped at him, her noises having such a strange insistent tone to them, almost as if  _ she _ understood what her carrier was saying.

“I bet you’re going to be just like your sire, always talking, but sometimes not having anything to say. You just talk and talk, just because you like to hear your own voice.”

To his side, Rodimus stirred and mumbled into the pillow, “I heard that.”

“Good,” Drift said, turning his helm from the bitlet to look at the large lump of his sparkmate. “You had to hear it. I wanted you to hear that so you don’t set a bad example for our bitlet.”

Rodimus moved his helm so one optic fixed on the swordsmech, a blazing blue optic cutting away the darkness of their room. “You already said she talks a lot like I do, so how am I the bad mech here?”

“You don’t listen.”

“Neither will she! She doesn’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yeah but she’s cute, so she can get away with it.”

“Hey, I’m also cute!”

“You’re cute, but you’re not as cute as she is.”

“C’mon, she’s cuter than me only because she’s small.”

A loud warble caught their attention, and both of them turned their attention to the bitlet nestled on Drift’s chassis. She stuck an arm out from the folds of the blanket and chirped, wriggling intensively.

“Look at her,” Drift said softly, smiling at the chorus of chirps and clicks that Wing was emitting as she looked happily between both of her creators, so lively and alert. “She definitely does take after you.”

Rodimus smiled broadly, beaming, and leaned in. A moment later, Drift saw more tears streaming out of the other mech’s optics, trailing down the angles of his face. He almost shouted, “AGAIN?!” but stopped himself and merely laughed. “Roddy, you can’t keep crying every time you look at her.”

“I can’t help it. She’s so beautiful and perfect.” He paused and then fixed his gaze on Drift. “How are  _ you _ not crying - you’re the one that had her!”

“I don’t know. After-emergence bliss, probably.”

Wing chirped insistently at them, her small servos flailing. She caught one of Rodimus’s outstretched digits and pulled it towards her mouth, chomping down on the digit. Her bright blue optics gazed happily at her sire, all while she drooled.

Drift laughed at the sight. “She’s already attached at the hip to you. If she starts going to you for advice about another bot when she’s old enough to date, I’m going to be very offended.”

“Joke’s on her,” Rodimus said as he slowly pulled his digit away, making a defeated face as Wing managed to hold onto said digit, yanking it back and putting it back in her mouth. “I barely know how the frag I managed to snag you.”

“Mmm,” Drift hummed quietly, splaying the bitlet out on his chassis, tucking the warming sheet around her. “I think your advice to her would probably be just to fall in front of someone and ask if they fell out from the Well too.”

“Aww babe, you have to admit that was a good pickup line.”

The swordsmech vehemently shook his helm in the negative and scoffed. “It was not a good pickup line because it took me a cycle to figure out what you were talking about. If memory serves me right I think I asked you to explain it to me and you just sputtered and walked away.”

“Hey, I walked away to buy you a drink.”

Drift gave his best slag-eating grin. “And it was a good drink. If you’d started off with that in the first place, you wouldn’t have made a fool of yourself like that.”

Rodimus grumbled a little bit but settled himself down on the berth again, pressing close to Drift’s side. Wing chirped and warbled at her sire before looking at her carrier again, her optics dimming and the covers growing heavier as they slid closed. She opened her mouth and stuck her glossa out in the air for a moment before she curled closer into her carrier’s embrace.

Smiling, Drift ran a thumb over the one cheekplate that was still exposed. “To be a sparkling. To have no worries.”

“Yeah,” Rodimus said quietly. Out of the corner of his optics, he saw the Prime’s gaze fix on him and heard Rodimus continue, “But seriously, how are you not crying right now?”

“I cried a little earlier,” Drift replied sleepily, running the tips of his digits over Wing’s helm, watching as she stirred in her recharge. “You just didn’t see it, because you had your face mashed into a pillow.”

Rodimus laid his helm down on the shoulder strut next to him and stared at Drift, his optics softening and a wide smile running its way across his faceplates.

“What?” Drift asked softly, stroking Wing’s backplates and feeling her little winglets twitch under his gentle touch. 

The Prime paused for a moment, and then leaned over and kissed him again. “I love you.”

Drift stared at Rodimus, and then returned the smile and sighed. “I love you too.”

Between them, Wing opened her mouth and yawned, her optics fluttering under the covers.


	4. Swerve's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some more corny fluff. We all definitely need it in our lives.

_ Drift placed a servo to his midsection and tried not to make it obvious. It seemed as if the entire ship was present there at Swerve’s, though thankfully he and Rodimus had been able to sneak into a corner booth and order energon - non-highgrade for Drift, of course. He could already feel the whack of Ratchet’s wrenches against his helm if he’d even thought about ordering highgrade. _

_ “Babe,” came a soft and silly voice that could melt his spark. Drift sighed and moved his servo from his middle and reached across the table to Rodimus, taking the Prime’s servos into his and intertwining their digits as Rodimus continued, “Babe, when do you want to tell everyone?” _

_ It had been a few decacycles since he’d told Rodimus about their impending parenthood, and how Drift was torn between not wanting to, and wanting to tell everyone else. It was a miracle that his conjunx had kept his mouth shut thus far. _

_ “When we can’t keep it a secret anymore, Rod. I’m pretty sure I’ve told you this already.” _

_ The Prime gave him a look and sighed. “I think some bots here are starting to figure it out.” _

_ “How?” _

_ “Well you ordered regular grade energon for one. And you putting your servos all over where the bitlet is is a pretty good tipoff.” _

_ “I don’t care Rodimus, they can guess if they want to.” _

_ The other mech wiggled and then sighed. “Sorry. I’m just, I’m really looking forward to telling everyone.” _

_ “And I’ll let you. I’ll let you say it to everyone. But not right now. I don’t think I’m ready.” _

_ Rodimus pulled his arm and servo closer and placed a very big smack on the back of Drift’s hand, smiling at him, optics brilliant. “Good enough,” he said softly. _

_ Drift untwined their digits and had to lean over the table a little bit, but he stroked the side of Rodimus’s face and smiled back. “We’re gonna have the first sparkling on this ship.” _

_ If possible, Rodimus’s grin grew even wider. He grabbed his cube of highgrade and chugged it, groaning loudly at the burn in his intake (so Drift surmised from his previous highgrade experiences). “Yeah we are,” Rodimus winked. “I’m gonna go,” he slid out of his seat - and wobbled slightly on his pedes. “Go get some more energon.” _

_ Drift warily watched Rodimus lumber off, optics tracking the other mech’s movements like a cyberhawk to make sure he didn’t step out of line. Thankfully, it seemed like Rodimus was doing okay so far - he just made his way up to Swerve and pushed the empty cube at him, and they exchanged words that they laughed uproariously about, prompting a nearby Cyclonus and Tailgate to look up. _

_ Minimus was at the bar, Megatron to one side and Rung to the other as both smaller mechs engaged in some discussion - Drift was not an expert at reading lipplates, but it looked like Minimus was talking at Rung about something related to the Autobot Code, and the therapist was politely listening and nodding along. _

_ He looked around the rest of the room, Ratchet getting off the seat that was on the other side of Rung to go speak with First Aid. Whirl was nearby Cyclonus and Tailgate, mean mugging anyone who came close to them. _

_ There was a swift motion from Rodimus. Drift looked over again to see that his sparkmate was chugging a second… no, a third? A third cube of highgrade, if the one cube that Swerve was picking up was in addition to the earlier one. _

_ Drift tried to ignore the feeling of dread rising in his tanks as he stared back down at his own cube and slowly sipped it, sighing at the sensation of warmth spreading throughout his neural net. He thought of telling Rodimus that he was going to go to their quarters, try and meditate and reach out to the sparkling, see if they would succeed at reaching back to him. _

_ “Hey everyone!” _

_ Drift’s helm snapped up and it took a few nanokliks to register what he was seeing - his conjunx standing on the bar, Swerve right behind him and looking incredibly miffed, Megatron and Minimus and Rung staring at their captain with obvious confusion written on their faceplates. _

_ His spark dropped and he almost knocked his cube of mid-grade over in his dash to get across the room. _

_ “Drift and I,” Rodimus said, wobbling on his pedes - how much had he had to drink, Drift wondered in the back recesses of his processor - “we got some news! Ah, he’s coming for me!” _

_ “Rodimus, get down now.” Drift said in his firmest voice, about ready to pounce and knock his sparkmate off of his pedes, any innocent bystanders be damned. _

_ “J-just a bit, just a bit,” Rodimus giggled as he swayed where he stood. “He’s sparked!” _

_ The room got a little more silent - and as it was already incredibly quiet when Rodimus clambered atop the bar, it was quite an achievement.  _

_ Oh, Drift was going to murder the other mech. He was going to pull off every bit of Rodimus’s armor, piece by piece until the captain of the ship was in just his protoform. _

_ “Drift and I are having a sparkling,” Rodimus raised a cube of highgrade and giggled again. “It’s gonna be fraggin’ great!” _

_ Now he could feel the optics of every mech and femme on in the room on him, peering inquisitively at his middle, and slowly he heard the ruckus start up again. Exclamations, a few elated squeaks from Tailgate, someone saying something about needing to plan a party for the sparkling. _

_ “Right babe?” Rodimus said, a springing noise emanating from his chassis as he looked at Drift and chugged the cube in his servo. “It’s gonna be fragging great, right?” _

_ Drift said nothing, only fixing a cold stare on the mech. _

_ The full impact of the highgrade seemed to finally take effect, and Rodimus’s optics slid shut and he fell off the bar with an almighty crash, causing the floor to quake under the impact. Drift was the first to sprint over to check on his conjunx, and sighed in exasperation when he noticed that the other mech was, somehow, now deep in recharge where he’d landed, crumpled in a heap with his limbs splayed everywhere. _

_ Fragging lightweight, he thought to himself. _

_ Behind him, he heard Megatron clear his vocalizer. “If you would like, I can carry him to your quarters.” _

_ Drift shook his helm, a firm decline. “No. Leave him there.” He turned to face the gathered crowd who all looked at his face in lieu of his middle this time. “I told him not to say anything. So this is the punishment he gets.” And with that, he squared his shoulder struts and held his helm as high as he could as he made his way through the throng that parted way for him. _

.-.-.

Wing was fast asleep in the nest of blankets, tucked safely into Drift’s arms. The swordsmech smiled down at the peaceful image, and then leaned down and kissed her helm. In response, the newspark yawned and opened an optic for a moment, fixing her gaze on him before closing it again.

“Do you think everyone will behave?” Drift asked without looking up at the mech next to him. Rodimus put a servo on his hip, comforting gesture, and then leaned over and kissed the side of Drift’s helm. 

“If they don’t, I’ll make them. She starts getting scared, we leave, or I’ll make someone answer.”

“Okay, don’t go crazy on them like I would.”

“But you’re holding onto her, so I’ll have to get crazy on them in your stead.”

“Rod, there’s no need for you to go crazy on them.”

Drift’s rebuttal seemed to knock the wind out of Rodimus, and he slumped and pressed himself against Drift’s side, looking down at Wing.

“Primus, she’s so cute. Everyone’s gonna love her.”

The swordsmech smiled and kissed Rodimus on his cheekplate. “I hope they do.”

A communication ping came over both of their systems; Swerve was telling them that it seemed like everyone was ready to receive them.

“Ready?” Rodimus asked, wrapping an arm around Drift’s waist. 

All Drift could do was make sure that Wing was safely secured in his arms, and nodded. They headed out of their quarters, making their way over to the gathering.

When they entered the room, all optics - everyone on the ship was there, it seemed - fixed their gazes on them. Drift wanted to shrink back, but Rodimus held onto him, and their optics met and Rodimus grinned.

_ It’ll be fine _ .

Everyone at Swerve’s fell quiet when Rodimus ascended the seats and planted his pedes firmly on the bar. He cleared his vocalizer and then, after looking down at Drift and getting a slight nod, spoke.

“Well this is the first time I’m seeing anyone after a decacycle!” he said excitedly, and Drift could almost see all the restrained energy in his pedes as his conjunx tried not to jump up and down. “But it’s all for a good reason, I swear!”

Drift was reminded of the scene that had ensued the last time that Rodimus stepped onto the bar, and was ever grateful that there was no highgrade present at this little introduction party. He stroked the tip of a digit over Wing’s faceplates, prompting her optic covers to flutter and open, bright blue eyes staring out sleepily.

The bots closer to him gasped a little bit. One of the bots had to be Tailgate.

“Last time I was up here I told everyone that Drift was carrying and that he and I were gonna be creators.” He smiled broadly, almost puffing out his chassis with pride. “He got pissed at me for being drunk while saying it, but we made up. And now it happened! We’re creators! Everyone, meet our little femme, Wing.”

Almost as if on some prior-arranged cue she’d had with her sire, Wing let out a squeaky, loud chirp, yawning and stretching her little arms out. The gathered crowd emitted a collective “Awwwwwwwwwwww.”

Drift sat down at the nearest seat and rearranged some of the sheet around Wing’s frame, revealing her silver face and allowing her arms more movement. Vaguely he heard Rodimus telling everyone not to crowd over at once.

The first set of bots to meander over were Cyclonus and Tailgate, both mechs looking very curiously at the tiny little femme. Cyclonus was as steadfast as ever, but Tailgate had a little bounce in his step that brought a small smile to Drift’s face.

“Wing,” Cyclonus said, and then Drift noted the small twinkle of mischief in his optics. “That was the name of your former conjunx, was it not?”

Rodimus wandered over at that exact moment, and Drift almost laughed out loud at the slightly-cross expression that came over Rodimus’s face. Drift nodded. “Yes. I always intended to name any sparkling I had after him.”

“Ohhh Cyclonus,” Tailgate whispered, holding onto the taller purple mech and rocking back and forth on his pedes. “Cyclonus, she’s so small and cute.”

Wing blinked her big blue optics at the small, white-armored mech and babbled something in sparkling speak. She wiggled in the bundle of sheets and waved her arms at him.

“She’s saying hi to you,” Drift said, smiling at how active Wing was becoming as she tried to greet this strange, brightly colored bot.

“She is?! Hi!” Tailgate giddly waved at her, which then made her chirp insistently.

“Would you like to hold her?”

Tailgate stopped for a moment, and then excitedly nodded and held his arms out. Drift placed the sparkling into the smaller bot’s arms, a bit worried at how Tailgate would be able to hold onto her properly, but his fears proved unfounded. Tailgate seemed to be a natural, holding gently onto the bitlet and cooing at her.

Wing clicked at him, reaching up and bapping a servo on his mask and giggling and squeaking at the noises that the actions made. After another klik of entertaining herself, the bitlet looked up and very intently at the horns adorning Cyclonus’s helm, chirping quietly as if in contemplation before reaching up towards them.

“I think she wants to pet your horns, Cyc,” Tailgate observed.

The purple-armored mech drew a pensive look on his face before clearing his vocalizer. “I don’t think that’s a wise decision.”

Wing chirped loudly, as if trying to give a rebuttal.

“Tell that to her,” Drift laughed as he grabbed the bitlet from Tailgate and tucked her safely into his arms. “She likes getting touchy with everyone, kind of like another bot I know.”

Rodimus sputtered next to him, but said nothing.

Tailgate and Cyclonus shifted to the side as Ratchet and Rung came forward. Rodimus fixed his gaze on Ratchet and nodded at him. “Hey, you’ve already seen her before.”

“Yeah I have,” Ratchet groused, but he prodded Rung forward a little bit. “This one hasn’t yet though. I could try and tell him how cute she is, but he’s gotta see for himself.”

Rung was already in front of Drift, peering intently at the sparkling. She calmed down and stared back at him with almost equal intent, tilting her helm slightly at almost the same angle that Rung had his own helm tilted at. He cleared his vocalizer. “She’s very alert for her age. Very adorable as well.” He looked up and Drift and Rodimus, smiling gently at both of them. “Congratulations you two.”

Suddenly, Wing chirped and thrust an arm out, smacking it against Rung’s glasses before she managed to wrap her tiny digits around part of the frame and yank it off his faceplates.

“Wing!” Rodimus and Drift cried out in unison, but the bitlet just giggled and squeaked, waving the glasses in the air. 

Rung blinked in surprise, and then laughed as he held his servo out. “May I have my glasses back, please?”

Wing, who had slipped the glasses on and was blinking her wide blue optics at the gathered crowd, took the frames off and handed them back to the psychiatrist with a quiet warble that sounded almost apologetic.

With that, Rung stepped aside, letting another crowd filter through and try to get a glimpse of the newest member of the ship. Drift braced himself mentally for the repetitive process of introducing the bitlet to everyone else.

Beside him, Rodimus beamed.

.-.-.

It wasn’t until the bar had cleared out, cycles later on, that Drift realized how much his energy had been sapped. He sighed, half slumped in a booth, and stroked his free servo over Wing’s helm, watching her as she drank from his feeding lines.

Next to him, Rodimus, his helm resting comfortably on his shoulder strut as they both stared at the feeding bitlet. Her small servos opened and closed repetitively, and Drift noticed how her optics were slowly dimming and sliding shut. He gave her a small jolt, moving his arm that held her, and she managed to wake up just a little bit as she moved her helm and gave him a pointed look.

“Don’t look at me like that, bitty. I don’t want you falling asleep while you’re feeding,” he said, voice tinged with a tone of fake admonishment. “You’ll get energon all over your face, and then you’ll definitely look like your sire.”

He heard Rodimus’s engine sputter and stall a bit. “Hey!”

“I have the photo captures to prove it, don’t try and say otherwise Roddy.”

“You’re so mean to me,” the Prime pouted, sticking his lower lip out in an exaggerated manner.

Drift tiredly cuddled up to his conjunx and, upon noticing that Wing was done feeding, gently removed the feeding line from her grip and pulled it back into his chassis before wiping the streaks of energon from her lipplates and chin. “Oh hush it you twink.”

“I’m a twunk, and you fraggin’ know it.”

“Only in your dreams, hot stuff.” Drift looked up and smiled, pressing his helm against Rodimus’s and kissing his cheek. The Prime tried very hard to look offended, but he failed, and turned and kissed Drift on his lipplaes, smiling broadly.

Drift felt it was a perfect moment - the three of them, his Prime and their bitlet. Content and happy. Between them, Wing chirped.

“Let’s go home,” Rodimus said sleepily, sliding out of the booth and helping Drift to his pedes. The swordsmech made sure that the bitlet in his arms was clean and secured before holding onto Rodimus’s servo with his free one and walking out of the bar.


	5. Bravest Bot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This certainly took a while to post. I got swamped with other fic ideas, and real life commanded attention. Short chapter, but something to get this going again. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this update ^^

_ When Rodimus came to his senses, the entire bar was empty and the tables and floor had been cleaned down, with the exception of where he’d fallen asleep on. Getting to his pedes and feeling only slightly embarrassed about the situation he’d found himself in, he got it in his processor to look at his surroundings and- _

_ Why was he alone?  _

_ Why was everyone gone? _

_ Why had he- _

_ And then last night hit him, much like the floor to his faceplates.  _

_ Rodimus hid his faceplates in his servos for a moment before remember that yes, he was alone, and there was no need to hide just yet. He still did so, however - embarrassment coursed through his neural net, accompanied by regret and shame. _

_ Drift… he had to find his sparkmate.  _

_ He bolted out of the deserted bar, passing by a number of bots. Some tried to get his attention, but he paid them no mind as he raced to his quarters while shouting that they’d have to catch him later on. Soon enough, he found himself standing in front of the door that led to his and Drift’s quarters.  _

_ Trepidation settled into his circuits, something he wasn’t intimately familiar with, only in passing waves. He closed his optics, steeled himself for whatever force of Drift could be waiting for him on the other side, and then entered his key code. _

_ The door slid open, and he stepped inside. It was dark, and he adjusted the mechanisms of his optics to allow for any other light source to filter through, while also activating his own biolights. _

_ And then, he saw him. _

_ Illuminated only by the glow of his optics and the biolights on his frame, Drift was sitting on one of the shelves in the common room. His legs were bent and crossed in front of him, tucked under the other with his knee joints facing outwards and his servos to his sides. His back strut was stick-straight, optics focused intensely on Rodimus. _

_ The Prime wanted the ground to open up and take him into its depths. Clearing his vocalizer, he sighed and closed the distance between them, going to the floor on one knee as he still met the swordmech’s harsh gaze. _

_ “Drift… Drift I’m so, so sorry.” _

_ The line of Drift’s jaw hardened and the shine of his optics darkened. “Being sorry isn’t going to make up for the fact that you went against my very explicit wishes,, Rodimus Prime.” _

_ Oh, there it was. Full name and title, no friendly tune of a nickname. Rodimus nervously reset his vocalizer again. “I...I know it’s not. I don’t know what else to say other than that I’m so sorry, to both you and to our bitlet. _

_ In swift motion Drift got off of the shelf and pulled himself to his full height, glaring down at him and how Rodimus wanted to curl into a ball at the sight. He didn’t, however, choosing instead to keep looking at his sparkmate, mentally preparing himself for whatever wrath would come his way. He deserved it, and more. _

_ “Do you know what your problem is, Rodimus? You think you know better than everyone, and you don’t listen. You don’t listen to Magnus when he tries to give you his reports, you don’t listen to Ratchet when he’s throwing something at you for tearing a cable in your leg for the third time in a decacycle, and you sure as frag didn’t listen to me. Went in one audio receptor and straight out the other one.” There was pure rage in Drift’s faceplates, and Rodimus drew his helm a little bit into his chassis armor as his sparkmate continued, “I asked you to keep this private, and what did you do?” _

_ Rodimus wasn’t sure if his mate’s question was literal or hypothetical. He decided to err on the safe side and quietly answered, “I got overcharged and announced it to the whole bar.” _

_ “You got drunk off your aft and got up on that bar and told everyone. Right after I told you not to.” The rage melted off of Drift’s faceplates in that instance, replaced by something that looked more like exasperation and exhaustion. “Rod, do you know  _ why  _ I told you to keep it secret?” _

_ The Prime racked his processor, thinking of all the past conversations that he’d had with his sparkmate regarding their bitlet. There had been many, most of them taking place in berth where he placed his servos or his helm up against Drift’s middle and said that he loved their bitlet so much. There were, however, none that he could remember regarding reasons for keeping the bitlet a secret - at least, none that went beyond Drift wishing for it. _

_ Rodimus shook his helm in the negative. _

_ Drift took a deep in-vent. “When Ratchet told me that I was sparked, he told me that sparklings at that stage had a chance of spontaneously aborting themselves. I could do everything right, and I could still lose our bitlet for no Primus-damned reason.”  _

_ A heavy silence settled over both of them. Rodimus felt guilt settle into his spark as he looked down at his servos where they were - folded and laid on his lap. _

_ Drift stopped pacing, and then Rodimus felt a servo gently touch the underside of his chin and lift his helm up so their optics met. “I wanted to wait to make sure our bitlet would be okay.” Drift closed his optics, sighed, and then reopened them. “Ratchet kept telling me that the bitlet was okay the whole time, but I didn’t want to announce it, lose our bitlet, and then have to announce that to the whole ship too.” _

_ A minute of silence settled between them.  _

_ “Babe,” Rodimus said quietly, getting to his pedes. He reached out for Drift’s servos, gently taking them into his. “Babe, please look at me.” _

_ He saw the line of Drift’s jaw harden once more as he looked up and their gazes met. _

_ “Babe, I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. I have to control myself better. I… I know I’m not good at listening. I’m trying to be better about it, and I should have respected you when you said to not say anything…” he half smiled and sighed. “I was just really excited. I know that doesn’t excuse it all though.” _

_ “No, it really doesn’t,” Drift replied in a flat voice. The swordsmech sighed. “Just… listen next time. Please. I hate getting mad at you, hot stuff.” Closing the distance between them, Drift wrapped his arms around Rodimus, then buried his faceplates into Rodimus’s chassis. In turn, Rodimus wrapped his arms around he other mech. _

_ “I’ll do better,” Rodimus said softly as he held onto the back of his conjunx’s helm with a tender servo, turning his helm and kissing the nearest audio receptor. “For you and for our bitlet. I love you both so much.” _

_ Drift made a soft humming noise as he leaned up and kissed Rodimus. “Then act like it.” _

_ Both mechs embraced the other in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of their systems working. Rodimus sighed, and then a thought crossed his processor. As with all thoughts he had, he had to run them by his best friend and conjunx. _

_ “Babe… babe, how are we going to afford everything the sparkling needs?” _

_ Drift pulled back from the embrace and gave the other mech a flat look. “Rodimus, did you forget that I bought this,” he gestured around the room, “entire fragging ship for you? We’ll be more than okay.” _

_ Of course. Of course he’d forget entirely about that. Rodimus laughed and pressed his helm against Drift. “Sorry babe.” _

_ “We’ll be okay. Plus,” Drift smirked at him and nuzzled their faceplates together, kissing Rodimus again, “now I know for a fact you don’t like me just for my extra credits.” _

.-.-.

Wing chirped and wiggled happily in her carrier’s arms, her arms reaching up and servo papping along her carrier’s face. Drift smiled down at her and adjusted his grip so she was held in one arm, freeing his other one so he could grab at her servo and tuck it against her frame.

“I’m here bit, what do you need?” the swordsmech asked, smiling as he bounced the little femme up and down, dancing around with her as he tried to avoid the mess at his pedes. “You already fed. You threw all your toys at the wall. So what is it?”

Rodimus stared at both of them and smiled. As with every waking moment that he spent looking at them, he was sure he’d never been more in love with his bondmate. His spark warmed as he swept into the little dance and held onto both of them, nuzzling his faceplates against Drift’s beautiful visage. The swordsmech laughed and nuzzled back, kissing Rodimus lightly along the line of his jaw.

When Rodimus got around to nuzzling his nasal ridge against Wing, the sparkling squealed and papped her servos along his face. She hooked her digits around some bits of armor and pulled him in, dribbling all over and squeaking.

“She’s already got your style of kisses down,” Drift said. “She’s sloppy, just like you.”

“Hey!”

“I don’t mean that in a mean way,” Drift replied, smiling. “It’s endearing”

Honestly, Rodimus couldn’t even argue. It wasn’t his fault that he had so much love and affection to give to his bondmate and their bitlet.

“Are you ready, Wingy?” the swordsmech said, addressing the sparkling happily squirming in his arms. “Time for your first round of immunization injections!” He sounded incredibly chipper.  _ Too  _ chipper, Rodimus felt. He gave the other mech a look, which Drift noticed. The white-armored bot smiled back at him and stroked Wing along her helm crest. “Your sire and I will be there, so nothing will hurt you, bitty.”

Wing warbled curiously, bright blue optics blinking up at her carrier. She chirped and clung to his armor as they made their over to the medical bay. 

Ratchet was already waiting for them, and Rodimus noticed the tray with two syringes ready to go. The bitlet looked at him and tilted her helm to the side, holding a servo out and chirping inquisitively at the medic.

“So what do we have here?” Rodimus asked, gesturing to the syringes.

“This one’s to protect her against any rust infections,” Ratchet said, holding up the first syringe. “Then this other one’s a general preventative dose against cybonic plague, space fever, things of that type. Anyone on this ship gets sick, she’ll need a second dose immediately to help make sure she doesn’t get it too.”

“Every bot wants to sparkling sit for her too,” the Prime mused as he looked at Wing and Drift. “So, better to protect her then.”

“Yep, if she’s gonna be getting any more exposure to every bot on this ship, she needs all this to at least give her a barrier.”

The bitlet chirred, wiggling restlessly in her carrier’s grip. Drift absently stuck a digit in her face and gave no reaction when Wing grabbed it and began chewing on it. “So, be honest. How much is it going to hurt her?”

A pensive look crossed the medic’s faceplates before he responded. “Everyone’s got different pain tolerance levels, Drift. Since she’s a bitlet, it’s probably gonna be the worst pain she’s ever felt. Or she might not react to it. My sparkmate knows I’ve dealt with all kinds,” he gruffed.

Wing chirped and kicked a pede out. Her optics curiously tracked Ratchet’s motions as he grabbed the first of the syringes, and she looked at the needle, chirring softly the closer it came. Rodimus held her arm out as Drift held her frame still, both mechs watching as Ratchet pressed the sharp point between two plates of armor on the bitlet’s arm, and then pressed it down.

The sparkling instantly began to cry and tried to pull her arm away. The sound broke Rodimus’s spark, but the Prime knew it was necessary. Out of the corner of his optics, he saw Drift’s frame tense up, and he wondered if he was going to have to hold Drift back from possibly doing something to Ratchet.

“I’m sorry bitlet,” Ratchet said in a soft voice that shocked Rodimus. He was fairly certain he’d never heard that tone of voice from the medic prior to this moment. “Worst pain you’ve felt, I know. Just this one, then another, and it’ll be done.”

At the medic’s soothing words, the bitlet’s cries calmed slightly, and she only sniffled and whimpered when he pulled the syringe out. The second injection was administered, and this second time around, Wing didn’t cry. She only looked at the dosage with teary optics.

Rodimus was relieved to see the second syringe get pulled away, as he cuddled Wing closer, running his digits over her helm and cooing to her. “You were so brave, Wingy! What a big bitlet you are. She’s the bravest bot of us all, isn’t she, babe?”

In response, Drift only smiled and took Wing into his arms, kissing her helm as she cooed and yawned, stretching her arms out before curling into his chassis.

“Thought you were gonna put a blade up against my helm for a moment there, Drift,” Ratchet said, grin not quite on his faceplates, but definitely in his optics.

The swordsmech looked at the medic for a moment and then gave him the most serene smile that Rodimus had ever seen Drift give anyone. “Oh I thought about it. It’s a good thing I don’t have my swords with me at this moment.”

Ratchet snorted as he tossed the syringes away and grabbed a datapad. “Yeah, well, thanks for not killing me for doing my job.”

From where she had her face mashed into her carrier’s chassis, Wing gave a sleepy warble.


End file.
